


The Last Supper

by Asynca



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Crack, F/F, pure crack don't @ me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 12:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19357129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asynca/pseuds/Asynca
Summary: Shandris and Maiev are a thing, and Tyrande is NOT happy about it. Crack.





	The Last Supper

“Nonsense, Tyrande very much values you,” Shandris told Maiev, taking her gloved hand and trying to tow her towards Tyrande’s makeshift home in Darkshore. There were little puffs of smoke drifting from its chimney, and the whole garden smelt like roasted meat. "She said herself your role here was vital."

Maiev wasn’t convinced. “There is a vast, gaping chasm between ‘I suppose you made a good decision once’ and ‘I’m delighted about how much time you spend with my daughter’,” she pointed out, digging her heels into the ground and not moving and inch.

Shandris wasn’t going to give up so easily. “I’m sure if she spends more time with you while you two are _not_ at odds over something, you’ll find you have very much in common.”

“People said that to me about Illidan.”

“And look! You both despise him. Why don’t you start there?”

Maiev could not have narrowed her eyes further. “’Tyrande,’” she said with a false enthusiasm that very much didn’t suit her gravelly voice, “’I was hoping we could spend dinner discussing our hatred of the person who sundered our world and then tortured me—so many pleasant memories! Won’t you pass the chicken?’” She dropped the act. “It’s useless. This is a fool’s errand. I probably can’t even enter her house because she’s sprinkled a ring of salt around it and said a prayer to Elune to vaporise me immediately if I cross it.”

Shandris stopped towing Maiev for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Could she do that?”

“No. Much to her disappointment.”

Shandris laughed. “Maiev. I promise she doesn’t have the sort of animosity toward you that you think she does, truly,” she said, and then turned towards Maiev and took her other hand. “I’m certain the more time you two spend together, the more you’ll warm to each other. You’d both so dedicated to protecting the Kaldorei, I think you’d make a wonderful team if you could move forward and work _together_.” She squeezed Maiev’s hands.

Maiev’s defeated expression wasn’t visible through her helm, but it was audible in her voice. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

Smiling, Shandris shook her head.

Maiev’s shoulders slumped. “ _Fine_. I suppose eating a single meal with someone hasn’t killed me,” she decided. “Yet.”

Shandris brightened, and began leading Maiev inside. “It won’t be as bad as you expect, I promise.”

No sooner had Shandris pulled the drape aside and opened her mouth to announce she and Maiev had arrived, seven heads—all people sitting around Tyrande’s long table she only pulled out for special occasions—swung toward her. Shandris recognised none of them.

Stunned, she stopped in place.

“Shandris!” Tyrande sang, and came rushing across the room to kiss her daughter’s cheek and completely ignore her daughter’s partner. “So wonderful to have you here again! Since we’re apparently inviting random guests, I took the liberty of inviting some of the wonderful people I’ve seen about the town in Bashal’Aran today.” She introduced all seven people one by one, starting with a very pretty Priestess off Elune and ending with a scruffy-looking old hermit who communicated mostly in grunts. “Aren’t they wonderful? Such a varied collection of interesting, single people. I’m sure tonight’s dinner will be most enlightening.”

“I’m sure it will…” Shandris said politely, but could feel her energy draining out of her like a leaky bucket.

“Come, sit!” Tyrande said, rounding a chair at the centre of the table and beckoning Shandris to fill it. Her smile faded. “Maiev,” Tyrande said, her voice dropping an entire octave as she finally acknowledged Shandris’s guest, “you can sit over there.” She gestured to a broken, tiny chair at the other end of the table beside the door. It was so short that when Maiev sat in it, the eye-slots in her helm were level with the surface of the table.

“Now that Shandris is here, shall we start?” Tyrande asked of her guests, and reached for a pitcher of wine.

Not wanting to make a scene, Shandris sat in her assigned place and let Tyrande fill her cup to the top. It was going to be a _long_ night.  


End file.
